The Ties that Bind Us
by Awena-Sachi
Summary: The Lindenheims are like most Vikings on Neck Twister Island, battling or partaking in the local tradition of sacrificing dragons to the gods. But most families don't happen to have a feud that lasts for generations. And with simmering tensions and an increase in dragon raids, the appearance of a unique creature could threaten to tear the family, and the island apart.
1. Prologue

The Lindenheims were among some of the first clans to set foot on what is now known as Neck-Twister Island. The stories vary on why they sailed to the rocky land. There are those who believe that the first clans were driven out of the mainland due to the growing dominance of the Christians. Some say that they once controlled a fertile island somewhere in the Synchron Archipelago, but were forced to move after repeated attacks by dragons. But regardless of which story is told, they all shared the same ending of the landing, and the eventual settlement of the island.

While there was surely more than one Lindenheim that settled on the island, the only member whose name had been preserved for posterity, was Heimir. If he had any siblings, their names were lost to history. He was one of the many warriors who drove the roosting dragons into the forest and built his hall over their bones. And it was from the battles he partook in that earned him the moniker: "the Bone Cracker." From this prestige – along with the plundering and booty he gained – he became very wealthy, and was arranged to marry his first wife, Bergitta Hermundottir. The marriage was fruitful, and she bore him a daughter and three sons. Their eldest, Inger, came to be one of the island's most famed shieldmaidens, while their sons Geiri and Kudran were both married off. But unfortunately, their youngest, Oleg, was killed in the same dragon raid that took the life of Bergitta.

For years, it was assumed by the villagers that Heimir would remain a widow for the rest of his days; his remaining children assumed that they were safe in terms of their inheritances. So it was a great shock to all that Heimir had chosen to remarry at the age of forty-seven. He married a woman nearly twenty years his junior, a maid named Groa Saemundottir. Their marriage was much less successful than his first. After several miscarriages, Groa was only able to give him two sons, Uluv and Gils, a sickly boy whom she would die giving birth to.

The children of Heimir's second marriage were not met with great regard by the children of his first marriage. Inger, Geiri, and Kudran considered Uluv and Gils to be sickly, _hiccups,_ no better than bastards sired from an illicit tryst. But of course, they didn't dare try to mistreat them when their father was around; they still had to keep his trust in them in order to be sure that they still had their inheritances. So once Heimir finally passed on to Valhalla, the three siblings wasted little time in making their point clear to their half-brothers. THEY were in control. THEY would make the decisions of their family, and THEY certainly wouldn't want the two to ruin their reputations any longer.

After this repeated shaming, combined with losing Gils to illness, Uluv had had enough. He decided to leave his father's hall and create a new one for himself and his descendants. His half-siblings had laughed in his face when he announced the news, and swore that he would never find a wife, much less sire his own children. But he still left, and built his hall in the eastern side of the village. The next generation came, and much to his sibling's surprise, Uluv was able to marry, but in the end, only his two youngest, a daughter and a son, lived past infancy. Geiri's marriage proved to be childless, and Kudran was ultimately the only one of the three siblings to have children. Both sides of the now estranged family kept their children from being on good terms with one another. Kudran turned a blind eye whenever his children mistreated or bullied Uluv's, and Uluv made sure that his sons and daughters kept away from their cousins.

And so began the rift between the half-siblings, a rift that spanned generations to come. Each branch of the family whole-heartedly believed that they were the true heirs of Heimir the Bone Cracker, and that the other branch was misbegotten. And for a time, many of the Neck Twisters took sides. There were those who sided with the progeny of Heimir's first marriage, as they tended to be more successful in battle, with wealth, and in producing heirs. Few associated themselves with the lesser-off descendants of Heimir's second marriage, since many of their children died in infancy or from dragon raids.

But time passes, and time changes all. The inhabitants of Neck Twister Island were tested again and again. They braved the blazes and brimstone heat of dragon fire, and fought against claw and fang with iron and steel. They endured the pitiless, frigid northern winds that raked their way through the northern islands, and drove off marauding pirates, ambitious warriors, and other clans viciously vying for land. They carved their place onto the island, amid the craggy stones, foreboding cliffs and haunted, misty forests. In the center of it all were the Lindenheims, fighting alongside their brethren against storm and sea, slashing, punching, stabbing and smashing. They, like their tribesmen sacrificed and called out to the gods in hopes that they would be granted entrance through the gates of Valhalla. But little did they know that the gods would send them something that would forever change the island and its people.

And so our story begins, seven generations after Heimir and his sons...


	2. Chapter 1

The dead were aplenty.

The waves churned and broiled as they brought forth a dozen blazing ships towards the darkening horizon. The vessels rocked back and forth, their hulls continuously slapped by the salty brine. By then, the flames had eaten through the sails and were making quick work by burning through the wood of the masts. The flames also devoured at the cargo they held, or rather…what was left of their cargo. Some of the bodies that had been placed in the ships were in better condition than others. There were a few whose mortal wounds could be easily covered up. And there were others who were burned beyond recognition – an irony, that that their bodies would be burned further.

The ships that were receding into the distance were watched by the steely-eyed villagers upon the shore. Horned helmets adored several of the men and women grimly watching the scene, as one by one, they silently bid farewell to their dead. Yes, there was the occasional sob from a widow or a child, along with the monotonous chanting of the village elder as he delivered the final death rites, one of his gnarled hand stretched out to the blazing specks. But other than that, there was a stony silence among the majority of the living. They were Vikings, and Neck-Twisters, for good measure. It would have been off-putting for someone like a warrior to blatantly express grief.

But of all the villagers, there was one family that had suffered a grievous loss. Hanberg, son of Amridir, had just lost the love of his life. His long, thick brown beard and moustache quivered as he clenched his lips shut. He blinked his azure-hued eyes several times to prevent tears from trickling down his cheeks. It wouldn't do for him to burst out into sobs like some of the other widows. No. He was a warrior. Warriors didn't weep. Warriors didn't collapse upon their knees and become wracked with hysterical, grief-filled cries. Warriors didn't scream out to the gods in rage for taking away a loved one. No…warriors didn't weep. Warriors didn't weep…

All the while, he clutched his three young children towards him. He didn't have to look down to know that their lips were quivering, that their glassy, tear-filled eyes were looking out, vainly trying to catch one last glimpse of their mother's burning ship. They knew that their mother – like all their dead – had died valiantly in battle and had surely entered through the gates of Valhalla. But still, knowing that their mother died an honorable death was of little consolation to them.

The elder's droning eventually ceased, and then all was silent. The only sounds made around them were the crash of the broiling waves, and the mournful howling of the wind as it circled above their heads. Sea spray drizzled against their faces, further chilling those who lacked thick furs and warm cloaks. They all stood there for a moment, before on by one, the Vikings took their leave. Hanberg and his children were among the few who still remained at the beach, seemingly in a daze. Gods, had he not told Astri about their betrothal at this very beach only seven years before? He could still remember how bright the day seemed, how bright and beautiful everything was…

" _Astri…" Hanberg gulped, clenching his fists for a moment before slowly releasing them. "There's something important I have to tell you."_

" _It can wait." The girl said, digging her fingers into the sand. Her strawberry blond hair hung from an elaborately braided ponytail, her bright eyes eagerly looking out for little seashells that sometimes washed ashore. "Come on Hanberg, don't stand there like a giant tree. Help me find some shells."_

" _Astri, I really need to – "He was cut off at the look she gave him. It was the same look she always gave him in order to coerce him into doing something either with her or for her. Her light blue eyes seemed glassy, her eyebrows crinkling upward as her lower lip started to tremble, making it look as if she were going to cry. Hanberg sighed reluctantly, knowing that it would be futile for him to resist._

" _Alright, alright." As soon as he sat beside her, her mood immediately lifted and she proceeded to dig around in the sand again._

" _What's with you? You're more quiet than usual." She remarked. It was true that he was a quiet young man. Stoic, steadfast, pragmatic, and keen to reason, unlike some of the other warriors of the island. But today, his usual, comforting silence seemed different. It had seemed as if he were choosing his words with care, something he only did when he was about to reveal something very serious. So when he didn't respond, Astri turned to him, her brow knitted in worry._

" _Hanberg?"_

 _He clenched his hands again and released them. This was it. No turning back now. He looked back up at her, feeling his heart beat faster within his chest._

" _Astri." He said, soaking in the feel of her name in his lips. Astri. Astri. Golden haired and supple-framed. As lovely as Frigga, and as wily and free-spirited as Sleipnir._

" _Hanberg." He was brought out of his reverie to find her staring at him oddly. "Are you alright? You look a little red."_

 _Sure enough, his face turned a brighter crimson, and his eyes darted away from her. "I need to tell you something important." He blurted out, feeling his insides clench. Odin help him, would he be able to tell her without making a blubbering fool of himself?_

" _A-Alright. What is it?" A hint of hesitation in her voice._

 _Hanberg gulped, forcing himself to look back at her again. "…My father, he…he signed a marriage contract for me today."_

 _Astri visibly paled, her own fingers clenching the fine grains of sand. "Did he?" She said, strained._

 _Oh gods no, she wasn't taking this well at all._

" _Y-Yes." He forced out. "My betrothed and I will be wed this autumn after the harvest. A bride price was negotiated, and my parents and yours will make further negotiations as the wedding date gets closer."_

 _Astri looked very close to fainting at first, before she seemed to still at his words. "Wait…" She tilted her head. "My parents?"_

 _Hanberg nodded slowly. "Yes…our parents agreed to have us wed. You are my betrothed."_

 _Several minutes passed, and Astri looked upon him in blank silence._

' _Oh no.' Hanberg thought, feeling his insides clench. 'She hates me. She surely hates me now. She's never liked the idea of marriage, much less an arranged one. Oh Hanberg you're such a fool! How could you have thought that she ever once loved you?! What makes you think she'll love you now? What makes you think that – "_

 _His train of thought was interrupted when she suddenly advanced upon him and pushed him back onto the sand. Bracing himself, he clenched his eyes and fists shut, expecting to be met with barbed words and punches…but instead was met with a pair of lips pressing against his. Hanberg's eyes shot wide open when he realized that Astri was pressing him against the sand and kissing him. His mind went blank in pure surprise, before he found himself closing his eyes, unclenching his hands and wrapping his arms around her waist._

 _They remained in this state for what seemed like an eternity, before Astri broke the kiss for air. They both stared at each other, wide-eyed and red-cheeked._

" _You…you're not…mad?" Hanberg somehow managed to say after getting over his initial shock._

" _Of course not!" Astri laughed, her eyes bright and shining. "I thought that they would never agree to a contract!"_

" _You mean you…" It began to dawn on him. "You…want to marry me? And you…love me?"_

 _Astri threw her head back and laughed uproariously. "Oh Hanberg!" She kissed him again, and he reciprocated this with more passion._

" _Of course I do." She said once she released him. "I, heh, I've actually had a crush on you for a while." She smiled and blushed sheepishly. "And, I was afraid that you'd never ask my parents for a contract, or that my parents would never ask yours."_

 _Hanberg stared at her, his mouth agape in surprise. Then, the widest grin grew on his face. To Astri's surprise, he sat up and helped her onto her feet, before letting out a loud laugh and taking her into his arms. She shrieked in laughter as he picked her up and spun her around._

" _Hear me you gods!" Hanberg shouted joyfully to the skies. "You have made me the happiest man in Midgard!"_

 _Astri chortled and mashed her lips against his, before mimicking Hanberg's actions. "And you have made me the happiest bride in the world!"_

 _And they laughed and whooped in elation, taking turns to shout their thanks to each and every god in Valhalla, their futures bright and filled with possibility…_

And look what the future had brought them. The gods wouldn't even grant them at least ten years of marriage, he thought bitterly. Hanberg heaved out a shaky breath, blinking his eyes for the umpteenth time. By then, he and his children were the only people left on the beach; the boats were distant glowing specks in the horizon, never to return to shore.

"Papa, can we go home now?" A small voice asked.

Hanberg looked down to see the tear-streaked face of his youngest and only daughter – Marin. He sighed and patted her head.

"Aye, best that we go now." He said, his voice hoarse from suppressing sobs for so long. He took his daughter by one hand, and with the other, he held then hand of his youngest son, Kolbein.

"Come Alfildir." Hanberg called out to his eldest son as he led his children away from the shoreline. "Alfildir." He repeated when he didn't see his son beside him. He turned around to see the boy still staring mutely out at the sea.

"Son, come." Hanberg said. Again, the boy remained silent, but he did turn around. His eyes were red with tears and drops of blood ran down from his deeply bitten lip.

"She's not coming back. Is she? She's dead. And we'll never see her again." Alfildir's words were short and clipped, and Hanberg could tell that he was fighting to keep his composure.

"No lad, she's not." Hanberg said quietly, letting go of Kolbein's hand and reaching out to beckon his son to him. Alfildir sniffed, wiping his eyes and licking his bloody lip before he plodded forward. Tufts of sand flew from his boots as he reached out to grasp his father's hand. And with that, Hanberg led his children away from the shore and up to the village.

As they walked through the streets – that is, if the gaps between the damaged huts could be called streets – they stepped over scorched timber and large craters left behind from the dragons' explosive fireballs. Soot-faced men and women carted damaged lumber and rocks away from the wreckage to make room for the supplies needed to rebuild their homes. Smoke still arose from a few smoldering buildings that appeared to be on the verge of collapse, and the four could hear the faint sounds of weeping in the air.

Occasionally, Hanberg would nod at a few familiar faces, fellow warriors whom he trusted, had fought alongside with, and with whom he had shared more than a few mugs of mead. But there were few others with whom he associated with. This was partly due to how many of his childhood friends had died from sickness, dragon raids or from battle. That, and how his late father once said, he and his children were "sown from the wrong seed of the Bone Cracker."

It was a bitter truth that Hanberg and his children were the progeny of Heimir Lindenheim's second marriage, and like their ancestors, they too had faced ridicule from their clansmen. And of course, they had received plenty of scorn from their distant cousins from Heimir's first marriage. That side of the family always seemed to boast better warriors, more wealth, more renowned shield maidens and a higher repute. As for Hanberg's side, well…things always seemed to be more difficult for them. Not to say that they were as low as slaves, but they certainly weren't the wealthiest people on the island.

This fact couldn't show itself better enough in the form of Hanberg's hall. In comparison to the stately and sturdy hall of his cousins, his hall was laterally shorter, had a mismatched patchwork of shingles and boards, and it lacked a carved Monstrous Nightmare head above the front door. While Hanberg could deal with the lackluster appearance of his home, the absence of the Nightmare head was always a blow to his pride.

According to tradition, if a Neck-Twister was lucky enough to slay a Nightmare in combat, it was considered to be a mark of their skill as a warrior, and a demonstration of their prowess in the battlefield. To them, the Monstrous Nightmare was among the deadliest of all dragons, and to defeat one was a sign of courage and bravery. To reward the warrior's achievement, a large carving of a Nightmare head would be mounted above the front door of their clan's lodge as a reminder of their great act, as well as bringing respect and honor to their family. As for the slaughtered Nightmare, its body was usually dragged to the town's main square to be sacrificed to the gods.

Hanberg suppressed the urge to grimace as he looked upon his soot-covered front door, and dug into his pocket to retrieve Astri's set of keys... He paused, a fresh wave of grief hitting him when he realized that he would never again hear them clinking against her hips, or catch her absentmindedly fiddling around with them, or listen to her list off each key's function, or watch her showing them off to their children, or –

"Daddy? Do you need help opening the door?"

He was broken out of his reverie when he realized that Marin had spoken. He looked down to see his daughter worriedly staring up at him.

"I can help you open it." She reached up a hand to take the keys. "Mama taught me how."

"No you can't, you're too small." Alfildir scowled. "You can't reach the knob."

"Let her do it!" Kolbein exclaimed, frowning at his older brother.

"No, she'll just drop all the keys." Alfildir grumbled.

"I can do it!" Marin insisted, scrunching up her face and sticking her tongue out at Alfildir. "You'd just mess it up and pick the wrong key. Mama made me remember the right key for the front door."

Hanberg groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. After clearing debris and preparing his wife's body for her funeral, he really didn't have much patience – or energy for that matter – to deal with their bickering.

"Children, that's enough."

"Mama was strong. You can't even hold those keys up for five seconds without dropping them." Alfildir shot back.

"Children."

"I'm not weak!" Marin protested, her lips beginning to quiver as she felt her eyes water. "Mama said that I was strong!"

"But you're little, how could you be strong?!"

"Leave her alone Alfildir!"

"I _am_ strong!"

"CHILDREN!" Hanberg shouted, causing the three of them to jump. Marin clamped her lips shut, not daring to say anything else, while Kolbein shuffled next to her and held her hand. Alfildir simply looked up at his father, almost sullenly. Hanberg frowned at his eldest son's behavior, before turning to unlock the front door, and pushed it open.

"Inside, all of you." He said, forcing himself to bring down the level of his voice. "Go to your rooms and get some rest. We've all had a long day."

Kolbein and Marin quickly nodded, and silently entered the hall, Alfildir trailing behind them. Hanberg stared after them, before sighing tiredly. He looked inside his home, and with a sinking heart, he noticed how empty and cavernous the hall seemed. The hearth was unlit, making the hall lack its usual warmth, and an almost overwhelming gloom seemed to await him.

With a start, Hanberg began to contemplate his future, his grip tightening slightly on the keys. What was he going to do now? How would he be able to care for three motherless children who always seemed to be butting heads? Who would be willing to look after them whenever he went off on a raid? He certainly couldn't ask his distant cousins; they would sooner feed his children to a Whispering Death than let them into their hall. And he wasn't sure if he would be able to trust any of his fellow warriors with them. Many of them either detested children, or had lost too many to dragon raids to want to be around them.

He heaved a sigh, wondering not for the first time what Astri would have done.

"Gods, help me. And help my children too." He mumbled. He then entered his hall with a weary tread, and locked the door.

It was going to be a long night, alone.


End file.
